


Only on Thursdays

by underthenorthstar



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Curses, Dead People, Eating People After they are Dead, Eventual Feelings, F/M, Gore, Halloween, Ivar is a Vampire, Monsters, Murder, POV First Person, Reader is a Corpse Girl, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Tumblr Prompt, Vampires, Witches, Zombies, inspired by many things, october 2017, possibly sex, so probably technically necrophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthenorthstar/pseuds/underthenorthstar
Summary: I'm dead.Okay, well technically I'm are cursed. But still dead. Zombie. Living corpse. Whatever name modern society wants to give me. In a world rife with supernatural creatures and blatant unbelievers, I live and hunt alone. Only my giant wolf hound gives me company. It's not much of an afterlife, but it's mine.But one atypical Thursday, my dinner was stolen by the most annoying, elitist, insufferable asshole vampire. His name is Ivar.And my quiet, lonely afterlife was never the same again.*changed from reader insert to Ivar X OC





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my new story! Written for a Monster Ivar prompt on Tumblr. Please heed the tags. Enjoy!
> 
> TW: blood, blood drinking, killing, body horror, extracting things from flesh, minor derogatory language

I met him on a Thursday. 

It was a seemingly normal Thursday, at the start. I'd gone on a run with Geno, the two of us racing amicably against a dreary, cloud covered sunrise. We'd gotten back just as it started to pour, big fat drops that sat on my skin like dew on a grass blade. I hated getting wet. There was no point to it. 

It was as I was pulling out the breakfast that I'd realized it would not be an entirely usual Thursday; we were down to our last morsel. I'd frowned. Didn't I just go out for food the other day? I checked the calendar. October 20th. Shit. I'd last gone out almost 3 weeks ago. Between me and my enormous wolf hound (more wolf than hound), that was more than enough time to polish off the last live one I'd managed to snag. 

I sighed. Geno cocked his head at me. 

"Well, boy, looks like it's time to go shopping."

I'd headed into town. There had been a funeral a few days ago, some broke old drunk. Left a widow, but no other family.

My kind of meal. 

I'd had to wait until dark. There were still a few straggling well wishers going in and out, bringing glass trays full of food and sympathetic frowns. It had made me sad, too. Not for the silly old biddy, but for the food. How I missed it, even after all these years! I'd chew off my own leg to be able to eat a nice juicy plum and actually enjoy it. 

When night had finally arrived, I'd made my move. I was extremely light on my feet, so scaling the wall to the bedroom window had been a cinch. I'd slowly lifted the latch, and slid into the dark room. I had been about to go for my knife (despite my odd condition, I didn't have any cool powers or abilities. Screw you, you nasty witch), when I'd heard the oddest sound.

Slurping. Long, gurgling, thirsty slurping. 

Oh, hell no. 

"You have got to be kidding me!"

I'd flicked the light on, and he'd attacked. So fast I could barely even see him. I'd hit the wall with such force the whole house shook and my left arm flew clean off. 

"Damn it, that's the second time this week!"

He'd paused at my voice, one large hand against my chest and the other poised to rip out my throat. His blue eyes flickered to the stump of my left arm, slowly oozing black tarry sludge onto the plush carpet. I'm sure he could feel the lack of heartbeat beneath his hand. Surprisingly to me, a look of recognition had crossed his face. It was followed closely, might I add, by one of annoyance.

"Oh, how wonderful. My dinner has been interrupted by a corpse."

And, that's how we ended up....here. 

"You can't just show up at my doorstep, one month later, all shot up with silver bullets and expect me to help you! You took my kill! You knocked me down and called me a "filthy, rotten, scavenger"! And on top of that, you didn't even have the decency to sew my arm back on! I had to do it myself, and look how that turned out!"

The vampire clutched at my ankles, hissing in pain as he writhed around at my feet. "Damn it, corpse girl! Stop talking and dig these bullets out of me!"

"I don't even know you, you dirty bloodsucker!" I tried to yank out of his grip, but his large hands were like vices.

"My name is Ivar, I'm over 1000 years old, I prefer type AB positive, I detest when people are late, and I'm very close to death right now," he ground out, gritting his fangs. "There, now you know me. Now help!"

I rolled my eyes. Geno whined beside me, clearly distressed over the stranger's (or Ivar, as I now knew him) predicament. I could just let this asshole succumb to silver poisoning on my doorstop, or I could hoist him up on the table and dig out the bullets. 

Geno decided for me. Fed up with my deliberation, the giant hound grabbed Ivar in his jaws and began to drag him towards the kitchen.

"Oh, all right!" I threw up my hands in exasperation. "I can take a hint."

It took all my strength to wrestle Ivar up onto the table, but once he was stretched out on top and I'd unbuttoned his shirt, I could see how serious his wounds really were. There were at least ten bullet holes littered throughout his torso, each once giving off the smell of burnt flesh and melted metal. A hour, maybe less, and he would be stone cold dead. It was clear he'd run into a powerful hunter, with top grade ammunition. A lesser vampire would have died instantly, it was clear Ivar was strong. 

"This is going to hurt," I warned him, picking up my knife. "This knife is made of silver, so it will cut through your skin. But it isn't enough to damage you, so don't worry."

Ivar moaned, and the sound was pitiful. "Just hurry up!"

I huffed, but set to work. It was not easy; many had gone in deep. Ivar grit his teeth and tried to stay relatively stoic, but I could see how much agony he was in. 

"Talk to me," I prompted, though I really did not want to have conversation with this filthy leech. "It will help distract you."

Ivar shut his eyes tightly as I gave a particularly harsh dig into his stone-like skin. "What is your name? So I can remember who to haunt if I die."

"Haha, better not insult the woman holding the knife," I deadpanned. "My name is Y/N."

"And- for Odin's sake, woman, can you be any rougher?-how long have you been cursed for?"

I stopped digging around inside of him, my mouth hanging open in surprise. "How did you know?"

Ivar cracked open one (admittedly stunning) blue eye. "There are only two ways to become a living corpse. Either you piss off a witch enough that you get cursed, or it is an immortality spell gone completely wrong. You seem stupid enough for the first, but not so stupid for the second."

"Why must you keep insulting me?" I grumbled, resuming my work. I'd gotten about half the bullets out; I set into a particularly deep one near his left collarbone. " But yes, I pissed off a witch. It's a long story."

"I certainly did not ask to hear it," Ivar closed his eye again, wincing. "Did you try to have her lift it?"

"Of course I did," I snorted, twisting the knife so the bullet came out with a loud pop. Ivar hissed; I smiled. "She threatened to curse me further. Then she had to up and die in the Salem witch trials, the wretched bitch."

"Real witches actually died in that?" Ivar's voice was getting thicker, almost as if he was falling asleep. 

"Yes," I plopped the bullet on the table beside him. "Thought only a few, mostly if they were enemies of another witch who decided to incapacitate them and then turn them in for spite."

"Hmmmm," Ivar's body was going lax; he was on the verge of passing out. "I have met a few witches, they are indeed spiteful creatures. Ouch! As are corpse girls."

I snarled at him. "Are you always such pleasant company?"

He let out a weak chuckle. "Only on Thursdays."

I couldn't help but smile slightly at that. I dug the last few bullets out as Ivar slipped in and out of consciousness. The silver had drained him, he would need a good long sleep. 

"You must have really pissed off some hunter," I sighed as I set the last bullet down on the table. "10 bullets. You are so lucky I was feeling generous today."

"A corpse girl with a heart, who would have thought," he mumbled. 

"You are insufferable," I put the knife in the sink and wet a rag. Vampires did not bleed (their blood dried up at the first touch of venom), but the silver burned up their dried out veins and turned them into a sticky, thick sludge not unlike my own. I wanted to wipe it off of him and the table before it solidified and made a huge mess. 

"I'm going to wipe you off," I told him, but he was out once again. I shrugged and commenced wiping him down. I had to admit, he really was a good vampire specimen. Horrible romances did get one thing right: all vampires were stupidly gorgeous. All to lure in their prey, of course. Ivar was pretty to a T, with thick dark hair, a perfectly symmetrical face (complete with those blue eyes, a straight nose, and full lips), and a body any mortal man would die for. If my dead shell was capable of feeling any sort of sexual arousal, I'd probably be panting and drooling by now. 

But alas, when you're dead, you have the libido of a rotten tree stump. 

"We'll let him sleep here till he wakes up," I whispered to Geno, who had been watching the whole thing from his favourite corner. "Then he's going to sew my arm back on proper, and then he can take his bloodsucking ass out of here." 

Geno cocked his head at me, like he didn't believe me. 

"Don't give me that look," I hissed. "I helped him out, did my good deed for the week. He is not staying. As soon as he's strong enough, he's gone and I'll never see him again."

Geno gave a series a weird little barks, and I couldn't help but think he was laughing at me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of your bullet extraction session with Ivar. 
> 
> TW: body horror (sewing body parts back on), mild language, mention of blood drinking

Ivar slept for almost 8 hours. 

I kept myself busy with my TV and doing odd chores around the house, but every 10 minutes I found myself peeking in on him. I'd left him lying on the kitchen table, despite Geno's whines of protest. He was heavy, and I had no desire to attempt to drag him to the couch. 

Why I felt the urge to keep looking in on his had me baffled. Why did I care? He was a total asshole, a pig who clearly thought he was better than me. Sure, he was easy on the eyes, but that didn't go a long way for me. I had always had the ability to see past a pretty face, to not be swayed by outer beauty, and to see a person for who they really were. My grandmother had deemed it my best quality. 

But still, there was just something about him that drew me in. Who was he? Exactly where did he come from? How did he become a vampire? I assumed from being bit; natural born vampires were very, very rare and always mixed breed. I'd met one once. Half vampire, half faerie. Interesting experience. But in what nature had he been bit? Unawares, or did he ask for it? Did he have a mate? A family? Or was he alone and lonely, like me? I had so many questions, and that annoyed me.

When Ivar finally began to stir, the first pink rays of dawn were beginning to show on the horizon. He moaned softly and opened his eyes, arms and legs moving slowly, as if to test that they were still useable.

"Am I dead?" He asked, voice cracked and hoarse. I rolled my eyes, leaning over him to examine the bullet wounds. Pretty much all healed up, thanks to the venom that lived beneath his skin. 

"Unfortunately not," I replied, and his hazy eyes landed on my face. He squinted in confusion, then sighed in resignation as his memories came back to him.

"I must be dead. This is Hell. Get back, demon," he scrubbed a hand over his face. 

"Har har," I stepped back from him, letting him have his space as he slowly moved into a sitting position. He felt around his torso gingerly, feeling the closed over wounds.

"Looks like you managed not to butcher me," he said, and I swore I heard a tiny note of admiration in his voice. It made a weird feeling niggle in my hollow chest, which I quickly squashed. 

"Is that what passes for a thank you these days?" I watched as he shrugged off his tattered shirt, now completely useless. He balled it up and before I could react, threw it at me. I shrieked as it landed perfectly on my head. 

"You could have gotten me something to eat," he ignored my spluttering as I attempted to disentangle myself. "I am dying for some good middle aged red right now."

I managed to get the shirt off of me, gritting my teeth in annoyance. Just who did this asshole think he was? Not so much as a "gee, thanks for saving my sorry ass" or "you sure are great, Y/N, I totally owe you!"

"What do I look like, a delivery girl?" I threw the shirt back at him, my annoyance rising as he caught it perfectly. "I patched you up. I let you chill in my house. That's where this ends, pal. Well, besides the part where your sew my damn arm back on properly. You know, the one you so kindly made fly off last time we met."

Ivar raked his eyes over my awkwardly drooping left arm. "It looks fine to me."

"It's not fine, dickwad!" I snapped, marching towards him so I could angrily prod him in his admittedly rock hard chest. "You are so lucky I'm right handed, or your body could be looking a whole lot different right now. Now stop being such a prick. Tit for tat, bloodsucker. You owe me!"

To my surprise, Ivar began to laugh. It was an oddly pleasant sound. 

"Oh, I so pity the man that was married to you in your past life!" He gave me a cheeky grin. "You are fire and brimstone, corpse girl. Alright, let me see that arm."

In minutes, I found our roles reversed. I was stretched out on the table, with Ivar hovering over me. My sewing kit was open on the table beside him. He began ripping the shitty stitches I'd done myself, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

"How did you know I was married?" I asked after a moment, hating to break the blessed silence but I was curious as to how he guessed that. 

He shrugged. "I just assumed. Most women your age would have been married back in your day. How old are you, exactly?"

"I was born in 1668," I replied, listening to the soft sound of my arm slowly separating from my body. "I died when I was 22. That makes me....349, I think."

"No wonder you are so difficult, you are still a child," Ivar snorted, pulling my arm off completely. He then chose a needle and began threading it. I narrowed my eyes at him. 

"You're one to talk, you crotchety old geezer," I quipped. "Over a thousand years old, I'm amazed you haven't crumbled into rancid dust yet."

"1,144 years, and as handsome and strong as ever," he shot back, leaning closer as he began to sew. "I'm practically a god."

That made me snort in derision. "Oh good gravy, I hope you didn't have that attitude in your human life. You pity my husband, I pity your wife!"

Something odd crossed his face then. "I was not married as a human," he said, and a tiny spark of pain flickered behind his eyes. That made me stop, my previous ridiculous itch to know things about him flaring. 

"No wife, eh? Not the type for marrying?" I pressed, trying to shove that itch down with little success. 

His voice was stony as he answered me. "Let's just say I was not...what was typical back then. Viking times were....harsh."

I let it drop. Even I knew this was a subject not broached with very casual acquaintances that probably wanted to murder each other. We all had our issues, right? 

"So, how did you become a vampire?" I switched topics. "Did you seek one out? Did one find you as you were dying?"

"You want me gone as soon as possible, yet you want my whole life story?" Ivar shook his head, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. 

"I'm just making polite conversation," I argued, wanting to cross my arms in indignation. Would he just hurry up and get me sewed up already? 

Ivar suddenly looked unsure, as if he was having an internal tug of war with himself. His hands stopped moving, and he stared down into my face with his stupidly blue eyes. If I had breath, it would have gotten stuck in my throat. He was looking at me as one looks at a problem they are doubtful is worth the work to solve. I could practically hear the gears whirring in his brain, assessing, analyzing, computing. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. The air around us changed, as if some tiny particle had suddenly shifted and rearranged, and the whole universe could be different now. 

I didn't know it then, but it would be. 

"That," Ivar broke the silence, his face setting as if he'd just decided some important decision but was sort of surprised at it, "that is a story I will tell you as we hunt."

I blinked. "What?"

"I am starving, and done with your arm," he moved back from me, and I lifted my arm to examine it. It was on straight, and the stitches felt good. "I need food, but I am weaker than I should be. I should have an escort, just in case."

I sat up. "Woah, first I'm your doctor, and now I'm your babysitter? I don't think so!"

"Come now, little corpse girl," Ivar tutted, his face settling back into its cocky composure. "It will not take long. And whether or not you want to admit it, you are curious about me. I will tell you of my transformation, but you have to hunt with me."

I bit my lip. I wanted to be rid of this pretentious leech, but I could not deny the raging curiosity I was plagued with. Surely one hunt wouldn't hurt? Then he'd talk and I'd be satisfied and he could be one his merry way. Yes, that would be alright. 

"Fine," I huffed, hating myself. "One hunt. One kill, for both of us. No fuss no muss, and then your sorry ass hits the pavement, deal?"

He sent me an irritatingly victorious grin. "Deal. Now, do you have a shirt I can wear? Or do you wish to gaze at my naked, glorious chest the whole morning?"

I threw my sewing kit at his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you guys are enjoying this! Find me on Tumblr, same username :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Ivar go on a hunt, and Ivar reveals more of his past.
> 
> TW: murder, blood drinking, a zombie having a meal

I hated to admit it, but Ivar hunting was a truly spectacular sight.

He reminded me of a cat, his muscles coiling and springing like a feral feline predator. He was deadly silent and lightening quick; the poor hitchhiker barely had time to react before Ivar was sinking his fangs into his neck. He moved with an elegance and grace that I was seriously jealous of. I was light on my feet, sure, but I was clumsy and slow compared to him. He even was a graceful feeder, fluidly lowering the man to the ground without letting him out of his jaws. 

Of course, I hadn't had a shirt large enough to fit him, so he was doing this all half naked. I couldn't look away as he drained the man, skin shining in the weak autumn sun. Damn it, why did he have to be so pretty? It was something I did not want to admit was a distraction. 

On the other hand, I was mildly disappointed he didn't sparkle. Or burst into flames.

"For a Viking barbarian, you have good table manners," I commented, trying to distract myself from the perfect tapered V of his waist. "I expected a lot more mess."

Ivar lifted his head, his mouth and chin smeared with blood. Even that made him look stupidly enticing. "It is very hard to get blood out of your clothes."

"Do vampires even do laundry?" I asked, as he went back to feeding. "I would have thought you all had large mansions and tons of slaves for that, to go along with your better than thou attitudes."

"You are seriously misconceived about us," Ivar muttered. "But of course, you are brain dead, so I can pardon your ignorance."

"Oh shut up, Edward Cullen," I snapped, twirling my knife impatiently. "Are you almost done? Dealing with your arrogant ass is making me hungry."

"No one is stopping you from joining in," he waved a hand as if to beckon me over. I didn't like the idea of digging in while he was still feeding. It felt sort of weirdly intimate, like a messed up dinner date. But I was feeling the urge, so I sighed and knelt across from him in the dirt. 

Ivar finished just as I had extracted what I was craving. He sat back and crossed his legs, taking a black handkerchief out of his trouser pocket to wipe his face. I could feel his eyes on me as I took my first bite, sighing in satisfaction as the still warm organ touched my tongue. I munched on, keenly aware he was just sitting there watching me. If I could have blushed, my face probably would have been burning. 

"So," I said, rolling a particularly tough piece around between my teeth, "you promised to tell me about your transformation."

"Talking with your mouth full, how classy," Ivar said, wrinkling his nose as I let out a small burp. "You are disgusting."

"Well, we all can't be prissy snobs like you," I glared at him, cursing my eating habits. Years upon years of dining alone hadn't left me with a lot of manners. 

"Manners maketh man," Ivar sniffed, tilting his head like he was some sort of refined gentleman, and not an insufferable barbaric leech. 

"You're about as rude and mannerless as they come," I countered. "And don't ruin good movies for me by stealing their lines." He shot me a look, and I stuck out my tongue at him. "Now stop stalling. You promised a story. Talk."

Ivar rolled his eyes, but granted my request. "I was a great Viking leader, one upon a time. I ruled a vast land, was a great fearsome warrior. I plundered and conquered and thought I was completely invincible."

"A king?" I raised my eyebrows. "Someone let you lead something? I'm surprised you could pull your head out of your own ass long enough to care about other people."

Ivar ignored my jab. "My kingdom flourished under my reign. I had much, but I wanted more. I started a war with a neighbouring land, one I was sure I would win."

I swallowed the last bite and moved on to the next dish. "Let me guess, your massive ego got ahead of you and your ass got whooped."

"My ego had every right to be massive. I was like a son of Odin himself. Yet, even gods have their downfall," Ivar's eyes grew distant, as if he were being transported back to those memories. "I was struck with arrows three times while we battled. My army was completely overwhelmed. I had underestimated their forces, their might. I knew I was going to die. I accepted it. Soon I would be in Valhalla, drinking with the gods and with my father."

His face softened then, much like when we'd been back in my kitchen. "I lay on the battlefield, waiting for a Valkyrie to take me home. And one came for me."

His lips parted, his face grew reverent. He looked almost lovesick. Like a man drinking in the sight of something so precious to him, something that could not be defined with words. Yet, there was pain buried in the oceans of his eyes. A bone deep pain that eons of time had not healed. His walls of bluntness and aloofness were down, and he was laid bare before me. 

I stared at him, dumbstruck, a million questions reeling through my mind. Who was she, that could make him look so soft, so....human? Had they become lovers? Where was she now? And what was that weird feeling in my chest?

He seemed to realize what he had said then, because the soft look hardened and the walls that had been lifted briefly slammed down. He fell hard back into the present, and the scowl that crossed his face was bitter. "I was bitten then, as I lay dying on the field," he said shortly, eyes averted from mine. "I passed out, and when I woke I was a vampire. End of story."

Liar. There was so much more to it than that.

"Bullshit," I said without thinking. "That's the Cliff notes version, at best."

"Well it is the only version you are going to get," Ivar snapped, his blue eyes meeting mine. They were like twin storms. "I do not owe you anything. I satisfied your curiosity, let us leave it at that." He was angry, but it seemed not only at me but also at himself. Clearly he did not mean to get so nostalgic, to let his emotions be reflected in the tale. 

But I wasn't about to let him get off that easy (even though my brain was screaming why do you even care??). My grandmother did always tell me I had a knack for being a pest. 

"Who was this vampire? Was she-"

But I didn't get to finish, as a bullet came ripping through the trees and shot the piece of flesh I'd been holding right out of my hands. I screamed. Ivar jumped to his feet, fangs bared.

"The hunter! He has found me," he dodged a second bullet, quicker than lightening. "That is inconvenient."

"You're telling me!" I screeched as a third bullet whipped by my head. I jumped to my feet as well, head swivelling as I tried to search for the shooter. "You ass! This is your fault! What do we do?!"

Ivar was beside me in an instant, swift and dangerous. "How fast can you run?"

I must have not answered quick enough, because he shook his head and suddenly I was slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Hey!" I yelled, beating on his back. More bullets whizzed through the clearing, Ivar sidestepping them all. "Put me down!"

Ivar just tightened his grip on my legs. "Hold on tight, little corpse girl," he said. "I am about to show you what true speed and power looks like."

I had just enough time to roll my eyes before he took off like a shot, the whistle of bullets echoing behind us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and Verity share an odd moment.
> 
> TW: mentions of blood and blood drinking, name calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!  
> So I have decided to change this story from a reader insert to an Ivar xOC as it was reading like that anyways. So we have our OC, which I have named Verity! Physical descriptions will remain vague so you can imagine her how you want. Hope you will still keep reading!

Ivar ran until we reached the town a few hours over. He stopped just on the edge, depositing me rather unceremoniously in a juniper bush. I shrieked as I tumbled off his back, landing roughly on my face in the soft dirt. 

"Warn a girl next time, will you?" I grumbled, scrambling to my feet. Ivar was leaning against a tree, eyes closed and chest heaving. I got the idea that Thailu wasn't a normal reaction to what probably was a light morning jog for a vampire. The blood he'd just gotten probably wasn't enough; the asshole would need more. But that was the last thing I was worried about. 

"This isn't where I live," I pointed out, crossing my arms. "You wanna explain why you didn't just run me home? And why this hunter is after you in the first place?"

Ivar opened his eyes. "I cannot take you home, he will trace my scent there." He fixed me with a sort of look my grandmother used to give me when I was being particularly nosy. "As for why he is chasing me, that is my own business."

"Um, in case you didn't notice, bat boy, he shot at me too," I huffed, skin pricking in irritation. "That kind of makes it my business, don't you think?"

Ivar ignored me, pushing off the tree with what seemed like great effort. "We should get inside. Sunlight does not outright hurt me, but it does not help when I am so....weak." He spat the word with venom, like it has personally offended him. "My place is not far. Follow me."

"Oh no," I shook my head, sticking my chin out in what I hoped was a defiant manner. "I am not going anywhere else with you. I'll probably end up roasted on a spit or disembowelled and forced to put myself back together. You, bloodsucker, have brought me nothing but trouble!" 

Ivar stepped toward me, his stupid handsome face set in an exasperated expression. I got the distinct feeling I seemed like a petulant child to him, and that annoyed me. 

"We must take shelter," he said, and his voice had a bite like a winter wind. "You can berate me there."

"I said no!" I stomped my foot, not helping the petulant child thing in the slightest. 

Ivar drew himself up to his full height, shoulders squared and bare chest puffed out. His face grew stormy, his thick brows drawing together and an almost menacing scowl gracing his lips.

"I just ran over 300 miles with your rotting ass slung over my back," he growled, voice low and full of ancient authority. It sent a odd feeling slithering down my spine, and I suddenly had the urge to fall to my knees. "I also saved said ass from being caught by someone who is more than capable of finding ways to destroy a living corpse. You should be grovelling in thanks! I am a King, a god, and you are beneath me!"

He suddenly shot forward, blue eyes blazing and fangs bared. One large hand grabbed my arm, and all at once I wasn't there. I was on a battlefield, the air thick with screams and the clash of steel. Blood poured like a fountain over the land, shining like a crimson tide with the morning sunrise. And in the midst of it all he sat, enthroned on a chariot, madness in his eyes and blood on his face. He wore no crown, but I could see he was a King. King of a people, King of chaos, King of blood and death. I couldn't look away, couldn't stop myself from taking a step forward. I wanted to see him closer, to touch his blood soaked face....

And then I was slamming back into the present, my undead heart quivering in my chest. What the hell had that been? Ivar was still in front of me, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. His hand was still gripping my arm, and to my surprise, it burned. It burned like nothing I'd ever felt before, like he'd placed his hand in hot coals before he touched me. 

"Ivar," I whispered, and some part of me registered that that was the first time I'd actually said his name. "What was that?"

He blinked slowly at the sound of his name, like he was waking up from a dream. He looked from the stunned look on my face to where his hand touched my skin. He must have felt the same burning I did, because his face abruptly cleared of the fog that had been clinging to it. He ripped his hand away, cradling it to his chest protectively. 

"What was that?" I repeated slightly louder. I felt not right in my own skin, like I had been torn apart and pieced back together incorrectly. It was wholly unsettling. 

"Shit," Ivar cursed, looking at me as if he had just seen me for the first time. Like some smokescreen had wafted away and revealed something entirely new behind it. "Shit shit, motherfucking shit."

Some ridiculous part of my brain registered his cursing, and how oddly foul language suited his mouth. 

"Shit shit, motherfucking shit what?" I was getting rather panicky now. My skin felt like it was crawling, like maggots were writhing beneath the dead flesh. A Something Big had just happened, something Big and Possibly Problematic.

"I cannot explain, not here," Ivar ran a hand through his hair. Shock and frustration mixed with what looked like a teensy bit of relief danced across his face. "We must go to my safe house. I need to make a phone call."

"Don't you have a cellphone?" It was out of my mouth before I could stop myself. 

"Not safe. She would kill me if I called her from anything other than our direct line," Ivar shook his head. "Come on, corpse girl. Do not make me throw you over my shoulder again, because I will not hesitate."

I believed him. And I was not going to argue, as I wanted answers. Who was he calling? What had just occurred between us? Why did it make me feel like I would never be the same again? 

I knew one thing; meeting Ivar had thrown my once quiet, undead life into an uproar. 

I followed him through back alleys and between buildings until we reached a very modern looking apartment complex. I squinted up at the shiny white and chrome exterior. Not what I was expecting. 

Ivar must have figured as much, because he smirked at me as we approached the front doors. "Expecting a dilapidated but still somehow charming castle? Sorry, Dracula bought the last one."

After the tension of the Something Big and Possibly Problematic, the joke came like a cool breeze on a hot July afternoon. 

"Never judge a book by its cover," I retorted as we entered. "Your place is probably full of cobwebs and candelabras and black drapes. What size coffin do you have, hmm? Extra large for your extra large head?"

Ivar snorted. "Coffins went out with the French Revolution. But I do have a king sized bed."

He paused with his hand on the door handle, and something unreadable crossed his face. The brief joking air dissipated as quickly as it had arisen. "I will say this: It seems meeting you in that old broad's bedroom was not just a stroke of chance. No, I believe it was something else entirely."

A sort of shiver wracked my body. "What?"

He gave me a wry smile. "That is what we are going to find out."

I frowned. I felt like he knew a lot more about what happened then he was willing to share. Damn vampires, were they all this cryptic and dramatic? 

"How?" I asked, although I had a sneaking suspicion I already knew the answer. Stuff like what we had share earlier reeked of some sort of magic, and magic meant.... 

"A witch," Ivar gave a small grin as I visibly shuddered. "Come on, corpse girl. You are going to meet Saoirse."


End file.
